


you left this town with such an empty space

by zenstrike



Series: you’re lucky that’s what i like [15]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, keith has the stomach flu, so there’s a lot of talk of throwing up and being feverish and such
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 18:51:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16393214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenstrike/pseuds/zenstrike
Summary: “Shiro,” Keith offered. “Call Shiro. Tell him to come back.”“Okay, yeah. I’ll do that. But only because I think you’re dying.”“I think I’m dying, too.”“You’re killing me, Keith.”- - -Keith gets the stomach flu.





	you left this town with such an empty space

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to colleen and darcy who read this fic when it was still in pieces and helped me finish it!

   

The first time Keith skipped school post-Shiro, he was eleven-years-old and, technically, staying with the Holts while Shiro was away. It was also the first time Keith and Shiro had been apart since the Incident, and since Shiro had finally opened his bleary eyes and tried to reach out to Adam and Keith with his missing arm.

Keith thought it was all pretty unfair. Stupid, really. Being away from Shiro also meant being away from Adam for reasons that he didn’t understand, however many times it was explained to him, and even if he loved the Holts and liked watching Matt study and liked playing games with Katie—it all felt like a disruption. Or, an interruption. A roiling in his belly and an ache in his chest and his neck. He couldn’t focus through morning class. He could barely see.

He left at lunch. Just packed his bag and walked out the front doors and no-one stopped him.

On the bus, someone asked: “You okay, kid?”

Keith ignored them even if he knew Shiro would want him to be polite but it was hard to think about _manners_ and _small talk_ when his head hurt so much and his impatience streaked fire through his insides. He leaned his head against the cool glass of the window and huddled deeper in his winter coat and he watched the streets outside the bus.

He stumbled off the bus at his stop and trudged through the snow and stamped his feet in the building’s lobby like he knew Shiro would want him to and he typed the right number into the buzzer’s keypad with slow, deliberate movements.

He starting hoping, maybe too late, that Adam would be home and then he almost fell over when Adam’s voice crackled over the speaker.

“Adam,” Keith said. “Can I come in?”

“ _Keith_?” Adam all but squawked.

“I don’t know if that’s a yes or a no,” Keith said with no small degree of eleven-year-old irritation.

Adam buzzed him in. Keith rode the elevator and tried to forget that he was by himself. He trooped down Adam’s hall and kicked the air freshener from the socket as he passed it and wondered if Adam had told his building manager that crap made everyone sneeze.

Adam opened the door just as Keith approached it and Keith promptly threw up on his shoes.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and that’s when things started getting weird but Keith would try for the rest of his life to remember as much of it as he could.

 

Something happened in between Keith getting to the door and throwing up and Keith winding up in Adam’s bed—but Keith didn’t remember what.

Adam had a sports drink in one hand. Keith felt a little disgusted just looking at it.

“Keith,” Adam said. “Keith, what are you feeling?”

“Too much,” Keith sighed and rolled away, burrowing deeper into Adam’s pillows with a sigh. Adam had so many pillows.

“Keith,” Adam tried again. “Did you tell anyone you were leaving school?

Keith groaned.

“Yeah,” Adam sighed. “That’s what I figured.”

Adam settled next to him and tucked the blankets tighter around him. Keith shivered. Keith groaned some more.

“I might—“ he started and froze, gagged.

“It’s okay,” Adam said. “I’ve got a bucket.”

A bucket. It seemed so silly.

“I’m so sorry,” Keith mumbled into the pillows.

“It’s okay,” Adam said again. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

“Good.”

Adam put a hand to his forehead. Keith rolled and burrowed against Adam’s side, grimacing.

“Okay,” Adam muttered above him. “Okay. I’ll call the school.” A pause. Keith wheezed. “Fuck. I can’t—fuck. Okay. I’ll call Sam. No, Colleen.”

“Shiro,” Keith offered. “Call Shiro. Tell him to come back.”

“Okay, yeah. I’ll do that. But only because I think you’re dying.”

“I think I’m dying, too.”

“You’re killing me, Keith.”

“I’m already dead,” Keith said, or tried to say, but he gagged instead and he felt it through his whole body so he sat up and clutched the bucket and heaved until he realized he was crying from the effort of it.

It was all very gross.

 

Keith woke again when Colleen leaned over him, her hand on his forehead.

”Keith,” she sighed when he blinked up at her.

“Where’s Adam?” he tried to say, but his voice came out sort of garbled.

Colleen seemed to understand. “He’s in the kitchen with Katie.”

“Shiro?”

“I think you’ve got the flu,” Colleen said, soft even as she ignored him. “Why didn’t you tell a teacher you weren’t feeling well?”

Keith scowled. Colleen sighed.

“How is he?”

Keith tried to sit up at the sound of Adam’s voice but mostly managed to flail before he was sucked back into the cocoon of blankets Adam had built around him. He groaned.

“I think it’s the flu. Matt’s got it, too.”

“He’s not dying?”

“Probably not.”

“Keith,” Katie called from the doorway. “Don’t throw up again!”

He groaned some more and closed his eyes, trying to will the world to stop its spinning and rumbling and—moving. He had a panicked, feverish image of Matt throwing up and losing his glasses in the toilet. Matt would hate that.

The bed shifted. Keith thought about crying but managed not to and then someone was tucking the blankets tighter around him.

“Adam,” he tried again.

“I’m right here.”

Keith sighed his relief.

Good.

 _Good_.

“Keith,” Collen said, almost whispering. Keith wanted to tell her to stop, to talk to him like normal, but his head was throbbing and her voice was a little soothing. “We’re going to go home now, okay? Sam’s got some soup started. You’ll feel better after that and some rest.”

“You and Matt will have matching puke!”

“Katie.”

“Sorry.”

Opening his eyes felt like peeling his face open, like fighting against a tidal wave of sleep, but Keith forced himself to stay conscious, clutching the blankets and straining against his headache.

“No,” he managed.

He could see Adam, his face pinched and tired, watching him, and Colleen just behind Adam and looking towards the bedroom door. Keith could almost imagine Katie bouncing on the balls of her feet in the doorway, waiting to go home and maybe waiting to watch Keith vomit.

Colleen turned back to him and frowned. “Keith,” she started.

“No,” he said again, louder now. His throat burned. “I want to stay.”

Adam straightened his glasses.

Keith had a moment of fear, of panic, through the feverish haze: maybe Adam wanted his bed back, maybe Adam wanted to use the bucket for something _other than vomit_ , maybe—

“I got him, Colleen,” Adam said then, busying himself with the blankets even though Keith felt plenty tucked in. “You go look after Matt.”

Keith slumped. He pulled the blankets higher.

Colleen heaved a sigh. “Adam, you—“

“It’s one night,” Adam insisted. “I’ve got him.”

“You were panicking not that long ago.”

“Yeah, and then you told me he’s not dying.”

Another sigh.

Adam leaned over Keith and made sure the blankets were tight and warm around his shoulders. “You hear that?” he said quietly. “I’ve got you. You can go back to sleep.”

“I’m not leaving,” Keith muttered.

“No. You’re staying right here.”

Keith nodded and closed his eyes and heaved a sigh of his own and was quickly asleep.

 

“It’s one night.”

“I’ll call the school in the morning. But—“

“And I’ll call you if he starts dying again.”

“He’s not dying, Adam.”

“He came to see me.”

“He misses you.”

“I miss him, too.”

 

(To Keith, the solution was simple: Shiro and Adam just needed to get over themselves and get on with their lives.

“That’s what we’re doing,” Shiro had said when Keith mentioned this.

“No,” Keith had grumbled. “You’re being stubborn.”

Shiro had given him a look that was both sad and amused and Keith hadn’t liked that very much, and then Shiro had told him to go do his homework and it was the closest Shiro had come to saying: “You’ll understand when you’re older.”)

 

The pain woke Keith next.

He heaved into the bucket. Adam rubbed his back. He might have said something but Keith couldn’t hear him. There was a ringing in his ears and pain between his shoulders. He thought, for a moment, he heard his dad.

“It’s okay,” came Adam’s voice through the haze. “You’re okay.”

Keith didn’t feel okay. He tried to say this. He tried to vomit again but nothing came up. Adam pulled the bucket away and pushed him back against the bed and Keith closed his eyes and fell back asleep.

 

He opened his eyes and dizziness washed over him. He shivered, once, and tried to press further into the pillows but they seemed to be pushing him away. Keith knew he was grimy and sweaty and his face felt tacky, like he’d been crying. He scrubbed at his eyes and scowled and his stomach roiled and cramped.

He needed to pee. When was the last time he’d used the washroom?

Keith lifted his head and saw Adam slumped next to him, his glasses half off and his dress shirt crumpled. Something other than sickness clenched in his chest and his stomach and he grimaced. Adam must have been on his way out. Adam taught, Wednesday afternoons. Adam worked. Adam had a life.

Keith reached with one trembling hand and pulled Adam’s glasses off. Adam grunted. Keith wished, so loudly the ringing in his ears returned, that Shiro was here. Shiro, who always knew what to do. Shiro, who was steady and knew how to take care of them both. Shiro, who would say “it’s okay” and “everything’ll be fine” and Adam would believe him and Keith would believe him.

For a moment, Keith forgot that Shiro was just gone for the week. He was just at camp. He was safe and he was doing his—his—Shiro thing, watching over cadets Keith’s age and making sure they didn’t run into trees or pull out each other’s eyes or whatever cadets did at camp.

Keith rolled out of the bed before he could go too far down that path. Down any of those paths. Sometimes he still thought about Shiro lying still and pale and the beeping of the machines and the pain of not knowing if Shiro would wake up.

He wobbled as he stood. A fresh wave of nausea hit him. Keith shook his head.

No more vomit, he decided. He was done.

He didn’t look for the bucket.

He leaned against the wall as he went, counting his breaths. Adam’s apartment spun. There was a box of books in the hallway that Keith was going to help unpack. Maybe Keith had been avoiding it. Maybe Adam had, too. Maybe two years was a long time to wait for people to get over—something.

The bathroom light was almost too bright. Keith coughed. He gagged a bit. He shook it off. He peed. He flushed. He washed his hands. He made himself walk through each step: step one, turn on the water; step two, put your hands under the water; step three, don’t fall over. He dried his hands. He turned and thought he could make it back to the bedroom and he flicked off the light and he crumpled to the ground so quickly he thought his legs had turned to dust.

“Crap,” he said. And then, because he felt like he could: “Shit.”

He leaned his head against the doorframe. He wiggled his toes experimentally. He felt very small.

“Keith?”

Keith swallowed. He cleared his throat, or tried to. “Yeah,” he tried to say but all that came out was a squawk. He scowled and rubbed his forehead against the doorframe.

“Keith!”

“I’m here,” he croaked and patted the floor like it was a signal.

The hall light flicked on.

Keith jerked back and swore, falling back against the bathroom floor.

Adam was there a moment later, pulling him upright and looking down at him with panicked eyes. Guilt made Keith want to squirm but his body was heavy.

“What are you doing?”

“Bathroom.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were sleeping.”

“Wake me up, then.”

“I can _pee_ by _myself_.”

Adam sighed, his hands tightening on Keith’s shoulders. “Keith,” he started, sounding exasperated and tired and everything Keith realized he didn’t want Adam to be. He shivered again, his fingers scrabbling against the floor.

He pitched forward and Adam caught him easily. It was nice, breathing in the smell of Adam’s laundry detergent and the cologne he wore sometimes, and it was nice, not to look at Adam and see how he was worried and see how he, Keith, had brought more trouble on one of the people who needed it least in the world.

Another shiver.

“I’m sorry,” Keith muttered. “I should have gone home.”

“You are home,” Adam replied. He slipped his arms loosely around Keith and it was nice, for a moment, to be held. “I’m your home, too.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Don’t—” Adam broke off with a grunt. “ _I’m_ sorry you feel like crap.”

Keith considered this, his forehead against Adam’s chest and his head swimming. “I feel like shit,” he decided.

Adam laughed and that—that was nice. “Come on. Let’s see if you can keep some tylenol down.”

Adam got him to his feet and Keith leaned heavily against him while they wobbled back towards the bedroom. The bed was heavenly, wrapping Keith up in its warmth and comfort. He was already dozing when Adam returned with water and three tablets (he even counted them out as he put them in Keith’s palm, one two three, which didn’t inspire much confidence).

“You have no idea what you’re doing,” Keith muttered, squinting at the tablets.

“They’re chewable,” Adam replied drily. “I think I can keep an eleven-year-old alive.”

“I’m not a plant,” Keith muttered and chewed the tablets with a grimace.

Adam took his temperature and Keith fell asleep, the blankets tucked tight around him and a new wave of shivers wracking his tired body.

 

He woke up and coughed up the tablets.

“Oh,” he said, staring at the new, slimy mess in the freshly cleaned bucket.

Adam pressed a hand to his forehead and grimaced and Keith thought that wasn’t good. He pushed the bucket towards Adam and fell back with a groan.

“I’m sleeping,” he mumbled.

“Okay,” Adam said, sounding soft like he had that first day after Shiro woke up, while Shiro collected himself and adjusted and lay exhausted but conscious with the machines still beeping around him.

“I miss Shiro.”

“Me too, kiddo.”

 

It was almost one in the morning when Keith opened his eyes next. He could hear the wind howling outside Adam’s bedroom window. He wondered if that was why he was so cold, shivering under the blankets and staring at Adam’s bedside clock.

Adam was trying to call Colleen. Keith knew this because Adam was muttering her name a lot and swearing a little. Maybe she was sleeping. Maybe Matt was dying, too. Matt, Keith thought, would be annoyed to be fretted over.

“Adam,” he tried to say and he must have managed something because Adam came to the side of the bed and Keith had a split-second of seeing his worried face before he passed out.

 

“Hospital,” Adam said, shoving his arms into his coat.

“What?” Keith wobbled. Adam caught him. When had Keith gotten out of bed? He blinked, bleary and confused.

“We’re going to the hospital,” Adam said firmly, like he had said this a couple of times already.

“Did you tell Shiro?”

“Did I— No, Keith. I did not tell Shiro.”

 

The weather was crap.

“Crap,” Adam said, and then maybe because he thought he could: “Shit.”

“I feel like shit,” Keith groaned.

“Yes. That’s the fever.”

And that seemed to be enough to make Adam think he could storm through the...storm and get to his car.

Adam was kind of scary when he was mad.

Keith reflected on this, huddled in the passenger seat and wrapped in more scarves than any person should own and watching Adam scrape the windows clear. He dozed off again, his head aching, and woke when Adam slammed the driver’s side door shut.

“Sorry,” Adam said and pulled up Keith’s hood. “Go back to sleep.”

“‘kay,” Keith sighed.

 

Keith dreamt that they were driving to the mountains. The roads and the sky were clear. The sun was shining. Shiro met them on the highway, carrying the largest cotton candy Keith had ever seen.

“Am I hallucinating?” he asked Adam in the dream.

“Just dreaming,” Adam promised.

 

Adam pulled him out of the car, making sure the scarves and Keith’s coat were tight around him. “Lean on me,” he said and Keith nodded, or tried to nod.

He felt like a marshmallow. He felt like he might be sick again.

“I’m going to throw up,” he said and scrambled to pull the scarves from around his face.

Nothing came up, really, but something painful and burning.

 

The emergency room was bright but warm and Adam huddled Keith into a dim corner and promised he’d be back. Keith nodded and slumped against the wall. Someone much younger than him was crying. There were frogs on the walls. He closed his eyes until Adam returned and put an arm around him and pulled him close.

“I called Takashi,” Adam whispered while Keith burrowed against his side.

“‘sweird you call him that,” Keith muttered.

“It’s his name.”

Keith thought that that was debatable, but he also thought he was dying. “I think I’m dying,” he said.

“So you keep telling me.”

“‘cause I keep thinking it.”

“Yeah,” Adam said. “Yeah.”

 The crying continued. Keith blinked, slow and deliberate, to try and keep himself awake. He started to count the frogs. He watched Adam’s knee bounce. He worried: was he a burden? was he _being_ a burden?

“I’m so sick of hospitals,” Adam muttered.

“Me too,” Keith choked. “Hate them.”

Keith tilted his chin and Adam brushed the hair from his forehead and Keith couldn’t quite see his eyes behind the blue glare on his glasses. “You need a haircut,” Adam said.

“Nope,” Keith mumbled and felt himself drift, like he was being dragged back into sleep by his feet. He sagged against Adam’s side and let his head tilt back down and Adam rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. And it was comforting: familiar and warm, like Adam was letting something other than the chills seep into Keith’s bones.

Someone soothed the crying kid with soft sounds like wind against windows. Hearing it made Keith’s head spin again, even with his eyes closed. He tucked his fingers against his palms inside his mitts, trying to capture all the warmth he could.

“I miss my dad,” he said and the words came out slurred. His whole body felt heavy and worn.

Adam’s arm tightened around him. “I’m sorry, Keith.”

Keith shivered. Something like horror, mingled with guilt, made his heart jerk against his chest. “I miss you, too,” he tried, half-panicked.

He felt Adam’s laugh, short and light. “Yeah,” Adam said. “I kind of guessed that when you showed up at my apartment.”

Keith frowned and closed his eyes. “I’m going to sleep,” he mumbled.

“Okay. I’ll wake you up when it’s our turn.”

He dozed, drifting in and out with the crying and the sniffling. He heard the automatic doors slide open and shut and sometimes felt the brush of cold, winter air against his cheeks and nose—but Adam was close and warm. Keith didn’t dream. Adam stayed still, his breathing slow and steady, and when he could, Keith wondered what Adam was thinking.

“You’re hot,” Adam muttered at one point.

“‘m cold,” Keith corrected.

Adam tucked the scarves tighter around his chin and neck so Keith felt a little like he was choking, but how could he say that when Adam was being so careful with him—

Adam woke him with a light squeeze of his shoulder. “Our turn, kiddo.”

Yes. Keith could hear the nurse saying his name. He shoved off the bench and wobbled until Adam steadied him and guided him towards the nurse’s station. They sat him in a chair and said soothing things he only half heard. He was starting to feel sick again and the bright lights weren’t helping and Keith knew he was sagging to one side a bit—but it felt like he could avoid the lights, avoid the noise, if he leaned a little _this way_ or _that way_.

“How’re you feeling, Keith?” said the nurse.

“Crappy,” Keith replied. He grimaced. “Shitty.”

“Keith,” Adam said, but it sounded less scolding and more worried so it was hard to take him seriously.

Maybe that was the most alarming part: Adam, who Keith generally thought of as a very steady person, a reliable person, a person who was sometimes capable of being very scary—Adam was sounding worried and panicked. Maybe they both needed Shiro.

The nurse and Adam helped him out of his heavy coat. Adam kept him upright while the nurse took his blood pressure, his temperature, and asked him questions Keith only half-understood.

“Let’s get you admitted,” said the nurse softly, and then to Adam: “It’s probably the flu but this is a pretty high fever.”

“Right,” Adam said, sounding choked. Like he needed a drink of water or a long nap.

The nurse’s chair squeaked as she turned it towards a small station and tapped at the edge of her clipboard. “Alright, Keith. You’re going to have to sit out in the waiting room for a bit.” Keith blinked blearily at her. He nodded eventually. “Okay. Do you think you’re going to be sick again?”

“There’s not much coming up anymore,” Adam said for him.

“But he’s still throwing up?”

“Trying to,” Keith muttered.

Adam put a hand on his shoulder. The nurse gave him a sick bag. They returned to the waiting room.

Someone was still crying, but it might have been a new voice.

Keith squished back into his jacket and squirrelled back into the corner. He pulled up the hood and leaned against Adam when he sat and tried to block out the lights and the voices. He clutched the sick bag.

“I’m trying to stay awake,” Keith said.

“It’s okay.”

Keith huffed and glared at his feet until his eyes couldn’t take it anymore.

Again, his name.

He almost didn’t want to get up. Adam helped him and guided him towards the intake desks, where the lights weren’t as bright and the cold from the doors seemed further away. Keith plopped into a chair and tucked his hands under his thighs and listened to Adam speak softly next to him. The man on the other side of the desk typed quickly but quietly, the gentle click-clack of the keyboard almost soothing. Maybe that was a hospital thing.

“And your relationship?”

Keith raised his chin long enough to blink at the man, with his patterned tie and his rolled up sleeves. Next to him, Adam was suddenly quiet.

Something unfurled in Keith’s stomach, something sharp and a little angry.

“He’s Adam,” he grumbled.

The man looked at him. Keith slumped back in his seat.

“Are you the babysitter?” the man prompted, which made Keith hate him a little.

“No,” Adam replied. “I’m—my ex is his guardian.”

The man dragged his fingers across the keyboard. “Okay,” he said. “Is she here?”

Keith thought he could hear Adam grinding his teeth.

He wanted Shiro. He wanted Shiro to come along and fix things. Shiro, who could make people do things with a quirk of his eyebrows or the smallest of smiles—Shiro, who would take over when Adam started to get annoyed.

“No,” Adam said eventually. “He’s away right now.”

The man blinked. “And Keith is staying with you?”

He should be. Keith looked at Adam. He should be staying with Adam. He shouldn’t have to ditch school to go and see him. He shouldn’t have adults muttering things about “compromising the adoption” and, honestly, Shiro and Adam needed to just apologize and get back together—

“My kid’s running a fever so high I can fry an egg on his forehead,” Adam said. “Are you going to admit him or not?”

The man blinked some more. He turned back to his computer. “Okay, Keith. Can I borrow one of your wrists?”

 

“That’s called heteronormativity,” Adam grumbled when they sat in another waiting room.

Keith tugged at the green wristband, his own name glaring up at him. “I know, Adam.”

Adam huffed. Keith leaned against him.

“You called me your kid.”

“You’re hallucinating.”

Keith thought that this was a pretty good hallucination.

 

Keith tried to throw up again, clutching the sick bag to his face. A woman across the little waiting area grimaced and suggested they find somewhere else to be.

“We’re already at a hospital,” Adam snapped. “What more do you want?”

If Keith had had more control of his voice and his head, he would have warned the woman that Adam was both easily pissed off and difficult to calm down.

Thankfully, a nurse came and got them and traded Keith’s sick bag for a fresh one that smelled, vaguely, of lemons.

 

Keith was put in a dark room with another boy, who had his back to the door and blankets pulled over his head. There had been a split-second where he was starting to feel better, and where he started to panic that he had wasted everyone’s time, and then a wave of cold and dizziness hit him so hard he could barely stand. He was sagging to one side again, Adam still keeping him upright, and he kept forgetting about the IV a nurse had just put in his arm.

“Hello,” said a woman, soft and soothing, across the room.

“Hi,” Keith managed.

“Hi,” added Adam and helped Keith onto the bed. His coat was half on, the left side hanging loose to accommodate the IV.

“Poor thing,” the woman continued and she sounded exhausted, rather than pitying.

Keith slumped back against the bed and closed his eyes and groaned.

“You doing okay?” Adam asked in a whisper, brushing a hand over Keith’s forehead.

“No.”

Adam sighed. “Yeah. Silly question. Sorry.”

Keith tried to tell him that he had nothing to be sorry about but his tongue was heavy and his mind was swimming and all he managed was a stuttered groan.

A nurse came. “Dr. Morris will be by shortly,” he said.

“Thanks,” Adam replied, still soft and close.

Keith thought about dragging his eyes open, just to make sure Adam was okay, but he felt heavy and nauseous and like the room was about to spin and swallow him whole.

“What was your name again?”

The nurse’s voice was quiet but he was probing, almost too casual. Keith grimaced and squeezed his eyes tight, like he could will it all away. He wished he wasn’t sick. He wished they weren’t here—or, that Shiro or Colleen or Sam was here so that Adam wouldn’t have to do this alone.

“Adam Whalen,” Adam managed. Keith imagined him forcing his own name out through his teeth.

“But you’re not Keith’s guardian?”

“I’m the one with him right now.”

“Alright,” continued the nurse, still with that too-casual tone and Keith opened his eyes finally and stared up at the ceiling. “We’ve called Keith’s emergency—“

“Yeah. I called him, too.”

Keith swallowed.

“—and—“

“My son is trying to rest,” said the woman then. “Let the boys be, please. We’ll wait for the doctor.”

Keith dragged his hand up. Adam met him partway and squeezed his fingers a little tightly but that was okay.

“Alright,” the nurse said finally. “Like I said, Dr. Morris will be here soon.” His sneakers squeaked against the floor as he left.

“They mean well,” the woman said into the silence. Keith shifted his head just enough to look towards her. Her son sniffed from the other bed.

“Thanks.” Adam squeezed Keith’s hand again.

“Don’t worry,” said the woman, her hair a flyaway mess around her face but her jaw set and determined. “I’m in your corner.”

    “Adam,” Keith tried, struggling to keep his eyes open.

    Adam leaned over him and whispered: “Go back to sleep.”

    “Are going to leave?” Keith said and realized he was trying to sit up only when Adam pushed him back against the bed.

    “No,” Adam replied. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

    Keith sighed and tried to keep his eyes open long enough to ask when Shiro was coming, but he was out again in moments.

 

    Dr. Morris was a tiny woman with freckles and thick glasses and a braid so long Keith thought he could trip on it. She smiled when Keith opened his eyes.

    “Hi, Keith,” she said. “I hear you’re not feeling so well.”

    He tried to open his mouth but his lips felt glued together.

    “Adam tells me you’ve been throwing up.”

    “I tried to give him some tylenol,” Adam said. Keith looked at him, hovering behind the doctor. The other boy’s mother was hovering nearby and gave Keith a small smile when he looked at her. “He threw it up.”

    “Okay.” Dr. Morris straightened her glasses and leaned away. “Keith, I’m going to give you something to help with the nausea and the vomiting, okay? And we’ll get your fever down, too.”

    He tried to nod. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded but Dr. Morris smiled at him all the same. She turned to Adam.

    “Do you know when his guardian is coming?”

    “He’s on his way. It’s a bit of a drive.”

    “Alright. I’ll let the team know. We’ll try not to bother you.”

    “Dr. Morris,” piped up the woman. “What about next—“

    Keith blinked and was out again.

 

    He woke up half rolled over. The other boy was crying, softly, and his mother was rubbing his back. Adam pulled the curtain closed between them.

    “Hey,” he said when he saw Keith was awake. “How are you feeling?”

    Keith blinked. He ran his tongue over his teeth. He felt grimy and uncomfortable and sweaty, but— “Okay,” he whispered. He cleared his throat, tried again: “Okay. I think.”

    Adam’s shoulders slumped and Keith realized slowly that he was relieved. “Good,” Adam said and dropped into the chair next to Keith’s bed. “I think we’ll take you home when Shiro gets here.”

    He looked exhausted. Keith wanted to reach out to him, pull off his glasses and let him rest.

    “But he’s coming?” he said instead. “Shiro...he’s coming?”

    “Yeah. He’s on his way.” Adam shifted in the chair. “I gave up on calling Colleen and Sam. Protect me when they want to yell.”

    “They won’t yell,” Keith replied seriously.

    Adam’s lips twitched. “I know. That was a joke.”

    “You tell bad jokes.”

    “When I’m tired—yeah, probably.”

    Keith smiled. He tried to roll properly onto his shoulder, but he felt heavy and out of place in his clothes and in the little hospital bed. “Are you okay?”

    Adam blinked. “Yeah. I’m great. Peachy. Awesome.” He paused. He took of his glasses and wiped at the lense with the hem of his shirt. “I think I overreacted. I’m sorry.”

    “Why?”

    “It’s just the flu.” He slipped his glasses back on, grimacing now. “We probably could have waited it out.”

    Keith considered this, his drowsy brain understanding slowly. “Thank you,” he said finally. “For taking care of me.”

    Adam blinked.

    Adam blinked again.

    He opened his mouth. Closed it.

    “Well,” he said eventually. “You’re stuck with me caring about you for a while yet. Don’t thank me until I’ve earned it.”

    “You’ve earned it,” Keith said around a yawn.

    “You’re still feverish.”

    “Adam,” Keith said.

    “Yeah?”

    “I’m in your corner, too.”

    Adam was quiet for a moment, then he leaned forward and tucked the scratchy hospital blanket tighter around Keith’s shoulders. “Go back to sleep,” he said softly, something Keith only half-recognized shifting over his face. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

    “Okay,” Keith sighed and closed his eyes.

 

    “Keith,” Shiro breathed when Keith opened his eyes again. Keith blinked up at him. “How are you doing?”

    Keith grunted.

    “Fair enough.”

    “Glad you’re here,” Keith mumbled and snuggled back against the bed. Someone, it seemed, had thrown some more blankets over him. “Adam needs help.”

    “Rude,” Adam sighed.

    Keith smiled and went back to sleep, his limbs aching and his heart warm.

 

“I want rights, Takashi.”

    “I know—“

    “He came to my _door_.”

    “I know.”

    “I feel like shit,” Keith mumbled.

    And it was Shiro’s flesh hand on his forehead but Adam’s voice near his ear: “Language, kiddo.”

    Keith fell back asleep.

    When he woke, a different nurse was pulling the I.V. from his arm and smiling when he saw Keith was awake. Keith’s eyes darted around the room, but too quickly: dizziness made him squish flat against the bed and say, softly and dazed: “Oh.”

    “Your family’ll be back in a moment,” the nurse said. “They’re just filling out some paperwork.”

    Paperwork, Keith’s sick-addled brain thought. Family.

    “You’re going home, Keith,” whispered the woman from before, coming up behind the nurse.

    “Oh,” Keith sighed. He strained to see the other boy but his back was to Keith and he was quiet now. “I hope he feels better soon.”

    The woman smiled. “You’re a good boy.”

    Maybe.

    Shiro returned just as the nurse helped Keith sit up and asked him to press a cotton ball to the inside of his arm. Keith’s relief was immediate the sight of him, like something was going to start falling back into place and maybe, just maybe, the world would stop spinning soon.

    “Ready to go home?” Shiro asked softly.

    Keith nodded but glanced behind Shiro.

    “Adam’s still here,” Shiro said. “Don’t worry. We’ll all go together.”

    Keith grimaced. “I threw up on him.”

    “I have a feeling that he doesn’t mind.”

    Shiro helped him from the bed and Keith leaned heavily against him.

    “I still feel bad,” Keith muttered.

    “Yeah,” Shiro said and his pity was, just this once, appreciated. “You’re going to be feeling bad for a little while yet.”

    Adam came to the doorway, a familiar silhouette, and caught Keith when he stumbled towards him.

 

    (In late November of their second year, Lance gets the stomach flu. He hugs the toilet and he moans and he suffers and Keith checks his temperature almost obsessively.

    “Go to class,” Lance tells him.

    “Not a chance,” Keith mutters and he piles blankets around Lance. Lance burrows into the pile in their bed and generally suffers and Keith goes absolutely nowhere.)

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from “you moved away” by death cab for cutie.
> 
> happy birthday keith <3 this wasn’t written for your birthday but it was absolutely written for you.


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